IT

PPER O' HIDE-

ght jus' as well run into Hide-an'-Seek for a night's lodgin' in the lee o' the hills, an' pick up what fish we could trade the while, there bein' nothin' t' gain by hangin' off shore an' splittin' the big seas all night long in the rough. 'Twas a mean harbor, as it turned out-twelve score folk, ill-spoken of abroad, but with what justice none of us knowed; we had never dropped anchor there before. I was clerk o' the Robin Red

hore again-all except a sorry ol' codger o' the name o' Anthony Lot, who had anchored hisself in the cabin with Skipper Harry an' me in expectation of a cup o' tea or the like o' that. By that time I had my shelves all put t' rights an' was stretched out on my counter, with my head on a roll o' factory-cotton, dawdlin' along with my friendly ol' flute. I tooted a ballad or two-Larboard Watch an' Dublin Bay; an' my fingers bein' limb

s Skipper Harr

I 'lowed then that 'twas a bashful c

er bawled, "whoever you

there," says

d a step

says Skip

" says Anthony. "I wouldn't

re in the rain,"

Anthony. "'Tisn't nobody that

l have un down here out o

he skipper again. "You

and grinned, none too sure of his welcome-halted, doubtful an' beseechin', like a dog on a clean kitchen floor. I marked in a sidelong glance, too, when I begun t' toot again, that his wee face was all in a pucker o' bewilderment, as he listened t' the sad strains o' Toby Farr's music, jus' as though he knowed he wasn't able t' rede the riddles of his life, jus' yet awhile, but would be able t' rede them, by a

thing you're bl

ivance, my son," says

ad sc

e?" sa

fended the wee feller; "that's the name

," sa

he flute-that he was broodin'. All at

your son,

" says I. "Wh

led me your so

says I, "I d

ou do i

a queer thing altogether. I seed that a man must walk warily in answer lest he bruis

"wouldn't a man like me make a fair

start

sir," says he, "afore I le

, "you've but a dull

greeable enough. I deserved it. An' 't

r pride, sir," sa

," says I, "Come now! Would I pass

solemn a

ou was my p

uestion," says I

oesn't

" says I. "What you

s he. "All I really wants to know is why you c

nts an answ

gratef

hed me with questions, t' ease the wonder that gripped an' hurt un, whatever it was-Skipper Harry got the n

" says he, t' hearten u

Skipper Harry an' stared a

ay jus' the

red what

n, sir, for

r, "an' glad to. I says I

sure abo

r was he the man t' withdraw. An' he didn't reef a

says h

f you was my pa? Eh? What i

lad. That

's qu

queer a

ered at the skipper like an inquisitive bird. "Nobody never said nothin'

an' good enou

'll not deny that I'm both. What I wants t

proud

at

arry lost

says he. "I've no lad o' my

om his shock o' red hair to his sea-boots

ys he. "I'm sore a

trouble a

lad, "I can't help you n

ys the skipper. "

erful proud o' my pa, an' I 'low my pa's wonderful proud o' me, if the truth was

s I. "Tha

! Is they,

st a wink. 'Twas a broad joke he was playin' with, whate

right, Sam

"Yes, sir-ee!" says he. "Y

onderful ma,

? I might get a letter from un by the next mail-boat. No tellin' when a letter will come. Anytime at all-maybe next boat. An' my pa might turn up here hisself

sel in the South Americ

day a

t o' Rio,

y Lot? Any

taste for. "Any day at all," says he

t cost my pa a copper, neither. Ol' Sandy Spot is fetchin' me up jus' for my pa's

for your pa's sake-an' t

ly whisper about the Gov'me

!" he

I eavesdrops on feelin's. 'Tis a passion an' fixed practice. An' now my cu

re heart in your

is breath caught an' his we

ay that for

sight t' see. I enjoys it. In these modern times," says I, "'tis not often I fin

oked t' th

Harry, enjoyin' the play. "M

bash me. There's no answer on the tip

ard Harry an' me, should find interest an' laughter in a gossip like that. Yet 'tis dull times on a tradin' schooner, when trade's done for the day, an' the night's dismal an' sodden with rain; an' with a fire in the bogie-stove aboard, an' no lively maids t' draw un ashore to a dance or a scoff o' tea an' cakes in a strange harbor, a man seizes the distraction that seeks un out, and makes the best of it that he can. More than that, an' deep an' beyond

oyalty to his father's fame and quality, pretty enough to excuse the preposterous tales that he told, I should have spanked un warmly, then an' there, an' bade un off ashore to cleanse his wee tongue o' the false inventions. There was no great deed that his father hadn't accomplished, no virtue he lacked, no piety he had not practiced; an' with every reckless, livin' boast o' the man's courage an' cleverness, his strength an' vast adv

ad like you," says Skipper Harry. "Aw, now, an I was you,

s other

s'pri

startle y

u learn all

n told

pa tel

, no!" says he. "I never s

pa in all your

r! Didn't yo

dn't te

ou. I thought ev'body in the wo

ever seed your pa in all your life

'bo

. Jus' so. You like t' h

w I certainly do! Wouldn't y

swift a

kipper Harry

tell

I bet ye I would!" says he, "I'd fair crave 'em.

s do!" says the lad. "D

s Anthony. "You can't hear too

ot, Sammy," sa

says the lad, "an' ev'bod

he skipper, gone

' t' me, then, "I bet ye he could blow one

y the flute,

but 'twould not s'prise me if he could. Could

co

'n thi

y, that h

the lad. "I

d this coast, an' I've seed the mines at Tilt Cove, an' the whale fishery at Sop's Arm, an' the mission at Battle Harbor, an' my report o' the wonders will mightily tickle His Gracious Majesty the King; but what I have most in mind, an' what lies nearest my heart, an' what I have looked forward to most of all, is t' sit down in my cabin, at ease, an' listen to a certain individual o' Hide-an'-Seek Harbor, which I heared about in Englan

gold medal from His

in due

lad t' Skipper Har

oked Anthony Lot in the eye until Anthony

s that sort o' thing giv

ort o'

like that to a w

t nothin

rong!-t' b

bit o'

ry s

e've growed

nin' like a caribou o' th

do, ye ol' crab!" says t

d stru

t true?"

an' fear in his voice an' was warned jus

ipper. "Sure, 'tis

," says

etter!" says

s I. "I've heared that self

the skipper, "who is

his head-out went his wee chest; an' his eyes went wide an' shini

Scull's so

his head an' shot a laugh

e, "d'ye thin

arry shoo

no!" s

ul t' behold. 'Tis worse when I think o' the whole truth of his state

. John Scull's son! Everybody in Newf'un'land kno

drift o' the years since then, little by little, more an' more, with less conscience all the while, they had lied for their own amusement. Look you, the lad had boasted, no doubt, an' was a comical sight when he did-chest out an' face scowlin' an' flushed, as we had seed it that night, an' his wee legs spread an' his way growed loud, whilst he declared the virtues of a father whose fortune was knowed to them all, young an' old alike, an' whose fate was a by-word

ed t' consider an' act o' punishment in company with his own reason, shamed his manhood thereby, an' fetched his soul into jeopardy. They called un Hard Harry, true enough; but 'twas not because his disposition was harsh-'twas because he was a hard driver at sea an' put the craft he was master of to as much labor as she could bear at all times. Knowin' the breed o' the man as well as I knowed it, I could tell that he was troubled, whether by wrath or grief, there was no knowi

he clapped a hand on Anthony Lot's

stowed away in

us' 'lowin' t' go ashore," says

ammy. "I isn't quite t

kipper; "an' I'm inclined to indulge you. What say,

pany," says I, "

he skipper. "Is you suited wit

teel enou

' fun at me," says the

neither!

Sammy t' the skipper. "Jus', sir-ju

his ear in wonder. It seemed t' me

says the

a question, an' then, in

"I wants t' ask-I-I ju

ur punt is frayin' the painter w

Anthony we

a cup o' tea that you wants, not the company o' me an' Mister Tumm, an' I knows it. You have a little scoff with the men, my

stay here,"

for'ard an' have a nice cup o' tea w

like

you w

as much suga

is, m

sir, that 'tis by yo

my

of his head t' the skipper; but

turn in?

, s

"I'll be back t' bid you good night

ite, my son

the deck an' Hard Harry was scowlin' w

ays the

ad tu

ir

arry, "I wouldn't tell the lad

would

er shook

e," sa

's qu

, I wou

not,

pper. "You don't have to, do you? I 'l

will if I wants to! I'm not ashamed o' the name I wear!" An' he leaped up the ladder; an' when he had reached the deck, he turned an' thrus

affairs o' great gravity, with no time t' waste in the company o' far-away little shavers-I've never told the tale t' such folk at all, but only to the lowly of our coast, with the forecastle bogie warm of a windy night, an' the schooner hangin' on in the rain off the cliffs, or with us all settled afore a kitchen fire in a cottage ashore, of a winter's night, which is the most favorable hour, I've found out, for the tellin' o' tales like mine; an' the folk for whose pleasure I've spun this yarn have thought the fat

the skipper. "His fist t

at. 'Twas a good rebound

irred hi

nows of," says I, "an' it might

uzzled

hawk, sir," says I, "with which

u has!"

rceivin' man. An' I've no mind t' withho

ed the lad's r

s I, "I'd trust a surmise an'

do you

lance. I'll hold with neith

e ashamed of his name soon enough. 'Tis a wonder they've not told un the truth afore t

I; "they keeps un ignorant t

t boastin'! 'Tis stupid. He've growed old enough t' know better, Tumm. 'Tis jus' disgustin' t' hear a big boy like he mouth

I. "Where's

ong when he'll find out all o

d myself out on the counter t

" says the skipper. "

ayed you Nell

s aw

is a popular ballad an'

s a terrible business altogether! If they hadn't praised his father so high-if they hadn't teached the lad t' think that he'd write a letter or come home again-if the lad wasn't jus' the loyal little nipper that he is! I tell you, Tumm,

n' in my flute. 'Twas a comfo

er. "'Tis the saddest thing ever I heared of. I wis

't," s

eart harder than

done with the matter. 'Tis

tn't find ou

e mouth o' the w

very well t

n' free course, in the melancholy that possessed me, to an impulse o' piety, "God Almighty knows how t' manage His world. An' as I looks at your face,

me how

od on it," says I, "wh

ted Toby Farr's woeful song called

hooner stru

lintered b

s didn't ask fo

ove un, ma

the cliff

'til the bones

ol' flute, "doesn't you know what you can do t

I did,

stupid as

he. "My wits is all scattered with rag

I, "all you

Harry wa

is

put t' rights, I hears that undertone o' patter an' splash an' sigh. There was that in the lad's face t' stir an ache in the heart of a sentimental ol' codger like me; an' when I seed the grim lines an' gray color of it, an' when I caught the sorrow an' pride it uttered, as the lad halted, in doubt, peerin' at Skipper Harry in the hope of a welcome below, I knowed that my surmise was true. 'Twas a vision I had, I fancy-a flash o' revelation, such as

ere you is, eh? Come below, s

ow feet; an' then he stood befo

r cup o' tea?"

nks you, sir, fo

ar i

s,

you w

ed, sir, an' more

y clapped un

o judge o' your deserts. They're a

isn't,

at! You is jus

I i

skipper. "Is you comin' back for breakfast

, s

Harry

t?" says he

d your good

says the

'em. An' his throat was dry. He

in' t' you

bee

e went shrill as a maid's.

been lyin' t' you jus' like mad

"this is a very queer th

co

nce freely," says I t' the lad

, sir!" This

my

anged by the neck until he was dead for the m

They shock us. They're never forgotten. An' there was a deal made o' that one, an' 'twas still the latest murder-news o' the trial at St. John's spread broadcast over the three coasts; an' talk o' the black cap an' the black flag, an' gruesome tales o' the gallows an' the last prayer, an' whispers o' the quicklime that ended it all. Sammy Scull could go nowhere i

ut a hand on Sa

you quite sure about wh

s,

is you k

d it of a dirty day in the fall o' la

Harry

says he; "'t

my po

ger under the lad's chi

' you?"

I was forbid t' pry, sir, an' I read all about it. My pa left on

nobody what

, s

y n

now, sir, when they baited m

so, my

lied an' lie

m-

t' the counter, then, an' b

. "I've a grave word t' say t' you

, an you'll jus'

r t' the south o' this. Tis called Yesterday Cove. An' in the harbor is a cottage, an' in the cottage is a woman; an' the woma

rred

rd," says I, "an' have a c

," says t

rry was tellin'. I jus' wet my whistle with a drop o' water, t' limber my lips for the music, an' whispered away on my flute; but as I played I must listen, an' as I listened I was astonished, an' presently I give over my tootin' altogether, the better t' hearken t' the wild yarn that Hard Harry was spinnin'. 'Twas a yarn that was well knowed t' me. Man alive! Whew! 'Twas a tax on the belief-that yarn! Ay, I had heared it afore-the ya

e, the lad turned t' me, h

Tumm!"

you?"

listenin

i

n an' learn. That's wh

I can," says I

looked Skipper Harry over whilst he vowed the truth of his words. "I'll

t's